


If life is a movie then you're the best part

by goldstandard



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety, Canon-Typical Violence, Concussions, Depression, Groundhog Day AU, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Lots of Crying, M/M, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 17:54:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18761449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldstandard/pseuds/goldstandard
Summary: Eric Bittle has one mantra as he relives March 29 over and over again - don’t get hit.If only things were that easy.





	If life is a movie then you're the best part

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thanks to Summerfrost for first saying, "I wish there were more Groundhog Day Au's in Check, Please" and THEN for beta-ing this fic for me.
> 
> What can I say? I'm a sucker for time loops.
> 
> There's also a small playlist for this fic which you can find [here.](https://shipped-goldstandard.tumblr.com/post/184747730367/a-playlist-for-my-fic-if-life-is-a-movie-then)
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Bitty should be sleeping.

It’s 4 am and he’s wide awake, staring at his ceiling and trying to determine if that water spot has grown at all in the last couple weeks. He could have sworn it was smaller the last time he looked.

It’s the day of their game against Princeton and Bitty is nervous. His stomach feels like a black hole slowly sucking in all of his intestines — twisting his lungs around until he can barely breathe.

There’s a thump from the other side of the wall. His roommate has been keeping weird hours lately, although Bitty can’t say he hasn’t been as well — up by 5 am most mornings to work on checking or general drills with Jack at Faber.

_Jack._

Bitty’s stomach twists again and he lets out a long sigh. Playing with Jack so far in the playoffs has been amazing. They’ve been basically reading each other's minds on the ice and Jack’s cellies — Bitty can’t be blamed for enjoying the warmth of Jack wrapped around him, sweat in his face, yelling in his ears. They’ve been playing some of the best hockey Bitty has ever played, but he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Jack has been great — has been kind and patient and not like the giant ass he was after that game against Yale but— Bitty gnaws at his bottom lip. Bitty’s worried for the moment he makes a mistake, steps one toe out of line, and gets yelled at for it. He knows he doesn’t have a lot of confidence in Jack when he should, Jack has been a great captain lately, but Bitty knows what people can really be like — has lived that life back in Georgia. Someone’s your best friend one minute when you’re doing something for them but the moment you stop you better watch out.

His phone rumbles against his side table and automatically Bitty reaches out for it. It’s a message from Jack in the group chat.

 **Jack** _(4:19 am)_ : Mandatory team breakfast this morning. Be there.  
**Jack** _(4:20 am)_ : OR ELSE.

Bitty grumbles to himself. Might as well get a run in before breakfast since he’s not going to be able to fall back asleep any time soon.

*

Breakfast is a subdued affair but Bitty can’t quite place his finger on the reason.

Ransom and Holster are leaning heavily on each other, eyes almost slits as they blearily stare down at their breakfasts.

Shitty is softly talking to Jack, heads bowed together as they inspect a piece of paper between them. Bitty wonders what’s on there — plays for the night’s game or schoolwork? It’s not like Shitty to quietly talk about either of those things, even when it’s just barely after seven in the morning, so maybe something more important — something that’s  _not_ Bitty’s business.

His thoughts are interrupted when he’s jostled by Lardo sitting next to him, carrying a tray overflowing with breakfast foods. Bitty watches as Lardo starts divvying out the multiple bowls she has — fruit loops and corn flakes mixed together goes to Shitty, who throws Lardo a quick grin before turning right back to Jack — sliced up bananas in milk is pushed across the table to Johnson - a bowl overflowing with Bitty’s favourite mixed fruit is wordlessly passed over to him and his chest blooms with warmth at how amazing Lardo is.

Lardo gives Bitty a half exasperated half glare type of look when Bitty opens his mouth to say thanks and he knows now that look means  _shut up, I’m only doing my job as manager to make sure you’re happy and ready for tonight’s game, nothing else_ and Bitty easily leaves it alone.

Lardo and Bitty are similar in the way that they take care of people they love, they just do it in different ways — Bitty’s actions are loud and sometimes a little overbearing, he knows that, whereas Lardo is quiet and subtle, there when you need it even if you don’t think you do. Bitty imagines that’s why she and Jack are such great friends — Jack never seems to be able to express what he needs, probably believes he _doesn’t_ need anything from anyone else, and Lardo finds a way to worm her way in without him knowing.

Bitty munches happily on melon and strawberry, allowing the flavours to burst on his tongue and mix sweetly together. He’s starting to have a good feeling about today.

*

The light outside of the janitor closet at the arena blinds him as he stumbles out. Shitty claps him on the shoulder but doesn’t bother saying anything else as he rushes back off to the locker room. Bitty’s eyes settle and he groans at the clock on the wall.

He slips into the room just as Coach Hall is taking a breath before his usual pre-game talk. Hall gives Bitty a look and Bitty sheepishly shrugs before tiptoeing around the large S on the floor to his stall.

He knows he should be fully listening to Hall as he speaks, but it’s mostly flowery pep talk — they already had their strategy session earlier. Bitty instead takes his time taping up his legs, making sure the criss-cross of it happens right in line with his knee. His hands shake a bit as he cuts it off.

“You’ve got this, boys,” Coach Hall finishes off with a nod towards Jack who is already fully geared up.

Jack walks with ease in his skates to the front of the room, glancing at every single one of them. Bitty swears Jack’s eyes linger on him a bit longer than the rest but maybe that’s some wishful thinking.

“This could be our last game—” Groans echo throughout the room and Bitty can’t help a small smile. “I know, I know, but it could be and I just wanted to say, whatever happens out there tonight? We did it together and that’s all I could ever ask for, alright?”

A couple of guys call out low _boo_ ’s but Shitty wipes fake tears from his eyes and shouts, “I love you, Jack Zimmermann!”

Jack flashes a quick grin, a sight that makes him the most beautiful man Bitty’s ever seen, and shakes his head.

“Let’s knock ‘em dead boys!”

Bitty pulls his jersey over his head and ties down the back as the atmosphere in the room changes from anxious nerves to casual camaraderie.

“Good, Bittle?”

Bitty looks up to find Jack standing in front of his stall — towering tall on his skates. Jack smacks Bitty’s feet with his stick and Bitty nods.

“With a speech like that how could I not?”

Jack laughs and continues his way down the line, smacking Holster in the head.

*

Bitty gets checked.

*

He hears about the brawl in the locker room after the game. It’s mostly expletives and crude hand motions but he gets the gist.

The room is too loud for him after a few minutes so he quietly excuses himself out. He’s halfway out the door to the loading docks before he realizes he’s not alone.

“We gotta stop meeting out here,” he quips before leaning against the wall next to where Jack is perched.

Jack looks like a wreck. He’s sporting the beginning of a bruised cheek from the fight and a look of utter doom on his face.

“Bittle, I’m sorry— I didn’t—”

Bitty starts to shake his head but winces as the pounding behind his eyes intensifies.

“It’s fine, Jack. We knew it was risky. Nobody knew this would happen.”

Jack’s frown doesn’t disappear as he stares at the ground.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Bitty sighs. He just wants to sleep. “It worked didn’t it?”

“Bittle—”

Bitty pushes away from the wall.

“Someone needs to watch me tonight an—”

Jack abruptly stands. Bitty wants to look but is afraid of the movement — his head feels foggy and like a vice is slowly crushing his skull.

“You’re more than welcome at the Haus. We’ll find you a bed.”

“Thanks, Jack.” Bitty lightly pats Jack on the arm.

*

Johnson lets Bitty sleep in his bed for the night.

“I’ll go hang out with my girlfriend tonight, but next time you’re on your own,” Johnson says as he finishes packing up his bag with some clothes.

Bitty wants to ask what he means by ‘next time’ but falls asleep before he can get the words out.

 

**Day 2**

 A thump wakes him up and out of instinct he wants to groan in pain, but his head doesn’t actually hurt at the moment so maybe those painkillers are really doing their job.

Bitty opens his eyes and is confused when he sees his Beyonce poster staring done at him from the wall.

He glances around and confirms, yup, he’s back in his dorm. Bitty’s instantly pissed off. When he finds out who played this stupid prank on him — whoever thought of moving him in the middle of the night right after getting a concussion — they are going to regret the day they were born.

He sits up, ready to start wreaking havoc on the Samwell Hockey Team when he realises there’s no pain at all. That’s not right. Bitty looks at his right arm, the one he landed on and was scratched up from the ice, but it’s as pale as the winter they’re just coming out of.

There’s a second thump and Bitty whips his head around to stare at the wall it came from.

His heart tries to claw its way up his throat, pounding erratically as thoughts start running through his brain. Bitty has no idea what’s going on and he hopes this is some sick nightmare.

While reaching for his phone, a notification lights up the screen and the time, 4:04 am burns itself onto Bitty’s retinas. Underneath that, in small writing, March 29 displays innocently.

Bitty sits there long enough to watch the time switch over to 4:16 am and he—

Bitty swallows. He doesn’t know what to do, honestly. This isn’t some 80s movie. This isn’t some— some—

Bitty wants to cry. He wants to just roll up under the covers and cry until whatever is happening is over — until time rights itself and Bitty can just go back to being a normal gay kid who plays hockey, bakes, and somehow manages to pass all of his classes.

Hysterical laughter bubbles up and out of Bitty’s mouth. _Normal._ When has his life ever been normal?

There’s a text notification. If this is actually March 29th again then it’s an absurdly early message from Jack reminding everyone to be at team breakfast.

Bitty pushes the home button on his phone and yup — there’s the notification from Jack. The OR ELSE in all caps and really, Jack can be just as dramatic as Holster sometimes.

Bitty lets his body run on autopilot as he pulls on compression leggings and laces up his running shoes. There’s not much more he can do besides pray this is a horrible,  _horrible,_ nightmare and that he’ll eventually wake up.

*

Spoiler alert: He doesn’t wake up.

*

Bitty sits quietly at breakfast, pushing cold scrambled eggs around his plate. He pushes them into mountains, flattens them down, tries to stack one little clump on another. His bowl of mixed fruit off to the side, untouched.

“You alright?”

Bitty glances over at Lardo and shrugs. He feels a bit directionless. When he had lived this day previously (or was that the dream?) he had things he had to accomplish. Eat breakfast; Get to the rink; Work out then have practice; Eat lunch; Nap; Get back to the rink for strategy and warm up.

Now, well. Bitty sighs. Now he still has to do all those things while pretending he doesn’t know how it’s all going to end.

“Yeah,” he finally replies. “Just thinking about tonight.”

Lardo nudges him with her shoulder. “You guys are gonna be great out there.”

Bitty nods and finally takes a bite of his cold eggs.

*

He’s going to get a concussion.

Bitty hates that this one thought is at the back of his mind, almost overshadowing everything else he’s doing. Tonight they’re going to play their stupid game, they’re going to do a stupid play, and Bitty is going to get checked so hard he goes flying through the air.

Bitty kicks at the bush he’s currently walking past on his way back to the dorms. He would also like to rip the bush apart with his bare hands if that wouldn’t garner him more side glances than he’s already getting.

He’s feeling a lot of anger building in his chest — something that hasn’t happened to him since middle school when he wanted to lash out at everyone around him.

Bitty takes one more swipe at the bush before continuing on his way. 

*

Finally, as his pre-game playlist blasts in his ears, Bitty has a game plan.

He feels the burn as he stretches out one leg, folding his body over until his nose brushes against his knee. It calms him, grounds him into that moment right there on the floor. As Britney tells him to _work, bitch_ he knows what he needs to do.

Don’t get hit.

*

Easier said than done, Bitty realizes, as he’s helped off the ice.

Despite spinning, quite gracefully thank you very much, out of the way of #1 on Princeton (and isn’t that a fun coincidence) there’s apparently another guy right there waiting to do pretty much the exact same thing to Bitty.

The weightlessness in his stomach feels exactly the same; the swoop that comes after as gravity takes hold is also there.

His vision blurs for a moment — or maybe he passes out — and then there’s yelling. First, it’s cheering, happy, but it soon turns into a hush which leads to the crash of noise.

Bitty still can’t quite make much sense of it all as Hall and the medic rushes him off the ice.

*

This time, when Shitty asks for volunteers to give up their bed at the Haus for the night Johnson doesn’t volunteer.

Bitty holds Johnson’s stare and wonders if this is what he meant by _next time_ and if maybe Johnson is stuck in his own personal Groundhog Day. That would make a lot of sense.

Jack finally offers to sleep on the couch and Bitty has to protest.

“Jack, you can’t do that — you have the semi-finals tomorrow and you can’t—”

“Bittle, it’s fine.”

*

Bitty cries as he falls asleep that night in Jack’s bed.

 

**Day 3**

Living a day over again is absurd.

Bitty feels an itch to do the opposite of everything. He knows that’s not productive, he really needs to figure out how to fix things, but what harm can he do when it’s all just going to be erased in the end?

He starts off his day by going back to sleep. It’s nice and much needed until there’s a banging on his door that startles him awake.

“Bittle,” says Jack through the door, cold and stern. “Get up.”

Bitty sighs. He probably should have seen this coming.

He rolls out of bed, trudges over to the door, and opens it to find Jack glaring at him, face red probably with anger.

“Where have you been? Have you just been here sleeping? It’s ten in the morning.”

Bitty glances behind him at his window and sees light peeking through the edges.

“Oh,” he says softly and immediately feels guilty. Why did he think sleeping in would do him any good?

“Bittle?” Jack asks, tone a bit softer, and Bitty wonders how out of sorts he actually looks if Jack is being kind to him at a time like this.

“Sorry, Jack,” Bitty says, turning back.

“Are you getting sick?” Jack is back to his stern tone of voice so maybe Bitty had just imagined the softness.

“I don’t think so,” Bitty replies, shrugging. “Maybe just needed some sleep. I’m sorry I missed breakfast — won’t happen again.”

Jack stares at him, calculating, before nodding.

“I’m heading to the rink right now. I’ll wait for you.”

Jack quickly steps away, back into the common area shared with Bitty’s roommates, and turns away slightly.

Bitty watches Jack’s fingers flex at his side, watches Jack fiddle with the hem of his shirt, watches Jack glance around the space to take in the bland decorating. Bitty watches until Jack catches his eyes and raises an eyebrow.

Bitty can feel the flush rising in his cheeks and hurriedly shuts the door so he can get changed.

*

He doesn’t dare do anything different for the rest of the day for fear of — what he’s not sure of — the wrath of Jack? But even that morning hadn’t been too horrid.

Bitty takes a shorter nap in the afternoon, not tired enough to go for his usual hour and a half, but otherwise sticks to the usual timeline.

He tapes up his legs; smiles up at Jack; gets checked.

 

**Day 7**

Bitty is determined to stay awake. Maybe if he doesn’t sleep the day won’t reset.

His head is pounding as he watches the neon red of Jack’s old school alarm clock.

He can feel his eyes drifting shut but opens them extra wide again.

He can do this.

 

**Day 8**

Bitty wakes with a start. _Fuck._  

He’ll try again tonight.

*

“You need to sleep,” Shitty says, arms crossed and frowning from his place at the end of his bed.

Bitty sighs and wishes Jack had volunteered again to have Bitty stay in his room. Jack always retreats to the couch fairly quickly.

“I will,” Bitty says even though they’ve been going around in circles for twenty minutes already. “If you leave I’ll go to sleep, I promise.”

Shitty stares at him for a moment before pointing at his eyes then to Bitty’s, the universal sign for _I’ll be watching you._

Shitty does eventually leave around eleven. Bitty, holding his head in any hopes that will help, quickly makes his way into Shitty and Jack’s shared bathroom where he’d stored some red bull earlier that day.

Bitty sits in silence as he occasionally checks the time on his phone, the light making his head throb despite it being on the lowest brightness setting possible before it’s just a black screen.

11:58 pm.

Bitty watches the screen go black as it idles. He counts to sixty in his head before he hits the home button.

11:59 pm.

He can do this. He’s going to be fine. If he can stay up past midnight the loop will break and—

 

**Day 9**

_Thump._

Bitty almost screams.

 

**Day 11**

An errant thought crosses Bitty’s mind that he should be keeping track of how many times he repeats March 29 but then he doesn’t know how he’d manage that 

He’s pretty sure he’s only on day 9 — or maybe 10 — and how sad is it that he’s already lost count this early on?

After sitting down one day, instead of napping, he’s pretty sure the thing he needs to change is the check that gives him a concussion. That’s really the only thing that makes this day in particular special and that’s what all the movies and tv shows depict - you’re reliving this day to make things right.

Bitty leans against the boards in front of Samwell’s bench during practice, watching Ransom and Holster play fight at center ice, listening to Shitty wax poetic about a sick deke Jack had just employed against Chowder, when Bitty gets an idea.

“Hey Jack,” Bitty says as Jack returns to the boards for a shot of water. “Hip check me.”

Jack sputters on the stream of water now basically spraying him in the face instead of into his mouth.

Shitty laughs while Jack stares incredulously at Bitty.

“Why in the world would you want me to do that, Bittle?”

Bitty shrugs because he doesn’t have a good reason to give Jack. He can’t just say, ‘Well, tonight I’m going to get checked so hard I get transported into my own personal Groundhog Day from hell so why not?’.

“I think it’s something I should get used to.”

Because after being hip-checked into the air close to a dozen times now he’s still not sure how exactly to brace himself for it.

Jack raises his eyebrows.

“Can’t it wait for a checking practice?” _And not before a playoff game_ , is unspoken.

Bitty kind of wants to stomp around on the ice and throw a bit of a tantrum like he did when he was seven and found out he wouldn’t ever get hoisted into the air like the girls in his figure skating class did. Instead, he pouts and turns big brown eyes up at Jack.

“Don’t you think I should be able to defend myself in case anything were to happen? Princeton has some pretty big defenseman.”

Bitty blinks a couple of times and watches Jack’s mouth slowly fall open a bit before a tongue darts out to wet his lips. Bitty is laying it on thick and hopes he doesn’t get called out on it.

“Fine,” Jack finally says and leads Bitty off to an unused corner of the rink.

Jack has always been a great teacher and this time is no different. Bitty takes everything in stride as Jack slowly pushes his hip into Bitty’s, flattening him to the board and explaining every moment as he goes. Bitty pulls his body into the boards on each check, allowing them to take the brunt of the force rather than him.

“Keep your shoulders and head up and you’ll be fine,” Jack says after they’ve run through a very slow, soft hip check a few times.

Bitty grins at Jack, feeling more confident about the game with each passing moment. Jack really does have his back.

Jack smiles back and Bitty’s knees feel a bit weak. Must be from all the checking and not anything else.

*

“I’m so sorry,” Jack whispers after the game, hand pressing an ice pack into his eye.

Bitty looks down at his socked feet, feels his eyes darting around the locker room to avoid settling on any one thing. His head is pounding and everyone is being great at keeping it quiet for once but—

“It’s fine, Jack,” Bitty mutters back even though he knows it’s not, knows they’re not.

 

**Day 16**

Bitty is getting pretty bored of living out the same thing day in and day out. He thinks maybe if he was reliving any other day he could get a lot more done — watch all the movies he never had a chance to see, take day trips somewhere fun but this day has a specific busy routine he needs to follow and can’t mess up. His conditioning better be improving because after all of this Bitty needs a long break from Bulgarian split squats.

He’s been doing a lot more spins during practice — doing a lot more fancy work. He’s been trying to do this one crazy deke he saw Sidney Crosby do once and while Chowder thinks it’s hilarious every time he poke checks the puck away from Bitty, Bitty knows Jack is getting angrier with every turnover.

“Mad, Zimmermann?” Bitty taunts one time, and Jack roughly grabs him by his jersey, yanking him over to the boards

“Is this some joke to you?” Jack hisses.

Bitty really wants to scream in his face, _the universe seems to think so!_

Instead, he shrugs, smiles sweetly while tugging out of Jack's grip, and returns back to the main scrum.

 

**Day 19**

Bitty is kind of surprised it took until now to absolutely lose his fucking mind.

He spends the whole day baking, hiding in the student kitchens instead of the Haus so he isn't questioned. He can’t get rid of the tightness in his chest, the panic that seems to have taken over his entire body. He doesn’t think he can feel his fingertips, but is ultimately unsure if that’s a byproduct of working with ice water as he makes pie crust after pie crust. Bitty chops up apples deftly, trying to keep tears from falling into the mixture, focusing on the clacking of the knife against the countertop.

Sobbing into apple pie filling is how Lardo and Shitty find him. He doesn't respond to Shittys hushed _bro,_ unless wailing counts.

“Did someone die?” Lardo asks, fingers brushing across his shoulder, tentative and unsure but overall caring.

Bitty’s stomach twists, nausea rising up into his chest but he swallows it down, knows he's being dramatic when he thinks, _no, but I might._

He just doesn't know what the point of anything is anymore. He feels lost, directionless, and absolutely insane. He doesn’t know when this hell is going to end or how to stop it. He’s tried not getting hit but every time it happens again and again and  _again._ He’s not sure how much longer he can take it — how much longer he can wake up to the same day with the hope today is the day everything will change. He’s useless, pathetic. He thinks about darkness, about nothing, about sleeping, about raiding the Haus’ medi— _no._

Bitty takes large, gulping breaths although he’s fairly certain he’s just gasping for air and can someone choke to death on oxygen?

Lardo gently pulls Bitty away from the counter and into a chair. _He’s so tired._ He wants to lay down and never get up again.

“Bits, it’s okay,” she whispers, rubbing his arms — up and down, up and down. The friction burns and he wonders if he could catch fire. “Whatever’s going on is going to be okay.”

He lets out a hysterical string of laughter, shaking his head.

“It’s not,” he garbles out, mouth full of tears and saliva and probably snot. “It’s never going to be okay again and what am I supposed to do?”

He catches Lardo exchanging a silent glance with Shitty before Shitty disappears back into the hallway. Maybe he’s going to call someone — Ransom or an ambulance or— or _Jack_.

“Please don’t call Jack,” Bitty rushes out, gripping onto Lardo’s arms, a bit frantic. “Please don’t tell him about this— I’m fine— it’s fine— he’s going to be so mad I missed breakfast again— and practice and— _oh god_.”

Bitty collapses in on himself, shrinking down until Lardo is cradling him into her chest, shushing softly and rocking him like his mother used to do. He can’t stop shaking but he doesn’t feel cold anymore.

They sit there, Lardo’s silence comforting him, for who knows how long — long enough that Bitty’s neck has started to ache. He stopped crying a while ago and he wants to say something — anything — to prove to Lardo he’s not as fucked up as it may look. He’s starting to come down from his hysteria, a bit light headed and nausea still sitting on the back of his tongue. Lardo’s arms wrapped around him are bringing him back down to earth, back to the reality that he has persevered through so much already he can’t let this stop him.

“What’s going on?"

Bitty’s heartbeat jumps up. He doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to leave the warm embrace of Lardo until the day starts over again. He doesn’t want to see the disappointment, the anger, written so clearly on Jack’s face. Here’s Bittle screwing everything up once again.

There’s a hand on his back, startling him into turning his head a bit and Jack crouches down with blue eyes so wide and so sad that Bitty can feel tears welling up again.

“I’m so sorry, Jack,” Bitty whispers.

“Hey,” Jack mutters, thumb now rubbing in between Bitty’s shoulder blades. “It’s okay, Bits, whatever’s going on, we can help you.”

 _Bits._ Jack hasn’t called him anything but Bittle the entire time they’ve known each other and despite the rush of warmth in Bitty’s body at that word, he just wants to cry even harder. He doesn’t deserve this.

“You can’t,” he whispers, screwing up his eyes in a feeble attempt to keep more tears at bay. “I don’t even know how to help me.”

“Are you—” Jack starts, cuts himself off with a sigh. “Can I talk to you privately?”

Bitty really doesn’t want Lardo to leave but he nods anyway. Jack is trying and Bitty figures the least he can do is try back.

Lardo slowly extracts herself from Bitty, runs a hand through his hair. Her eyeliner is a bit smudged on the one side where it was pressed into Bitty’s head. She gives him one more quick hug before getting up and going out into the hall with Shitty. Jack maneuvers himself so he’s crouched right in front of Bitty, hands holding onto Bitty’s knees to stay steady. Bitty does not look at Jack’s face.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but if you need to talk to someone there are counselors available here twenty-four seven. If you need something more urgent we can figure out where there’s a clinic or—”

Bitty lets some tears escape, feels them drag down his sticky cheeks, as he shakes his head.

“I—” Bitty pauses. He doesn’t know what to say. He can’t really tell Jack what’s going on with him, can he? “I’m not going to—”

Bitty wipes his clammy hands off on his thighs and places them over Jack’s. “I’m not going to do anything bad, I promise.”

Jack visibly relaxes, his shoulders lowering from his ears and even more guilt eats away at Bitty. Look at how he’s affecting his teammates — how he’s affecting Jack.

“Okay, Bitty,” Jack murmurs, nodding. “I’m glad to hear that. And—” Jack manages to finally catch Bitty’s eye. “If you don’t want to talk to a counselor right away you can always talk to me— or Shitty. But you should talk to someone.”

Bitty nods. He looks down at their hands.

“I think I’m going crazy,” Bitty whispers.

To Jack’s credit, when Bitty glances up at his face, there’s nothing but blank openness, no judgment. _Yet._

“How so?” Jack asks.

Bitty kind of half shrugs. He’s dying to say it.

“I’ve been reliving this day over for about three weeks.”

A loud squeak echoes loudly through the kitchen — Jack’s sneaker twisting against the floor — the only movement that gives away Jack’s shock.

“ _What?”_ Jack says, a bit sharp and loud.

Bitty winces, shrinking back into himself. He tries to pull his hands away from Jack, he was wrong to say anything, when Jack quickly grabs them back.

“Sorry,” Jack quickly breathes out. “Sorry, but did you say—?”

Bitty nods and the burning from behind his eyeballs are back in full force. _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry._

“I know it sounds insane. Maybe I am insane — maybe this is what I deserve — maybe this is God punishing—”

“ _No_!” Jack snaps and Bitty’s eyes widen, staring at the anger now strewn across Jack’s face. “You don’t deserve any of this, whatever is happening. This isn’t some _punishment_ for you being you, okay?”

Bitty just nods, shocked at how passionate Jack is.

Jack abruptly stands up, grabs another chair to pull up beside Bitty, and sits down, game face on and looking like he wishes he had something to take notes on.

“Alright. When did this start?”

*

Shitty and Lardo eventually rejoin them, but Jack makes no mention of what Bitty told him, just that they talked and are working on it.

Lardo gives Bitty such a long hug that he starts to sway a bit, exhausted from everything.

“Time for sleep, Bittle,” Jack says when they tear themselves apart.

Jack clasps one hand on Bitty’s shoulder and directs him out of the kitchen. Bitty doesn’t even have the energy to protest, muttering something about his pie, but is placated when Shitty says they’ll take care of it for him.

It’s quiet the entire march back to Bitty’s dorm room, but not uncomfortable.

“Get some rest,” Jack says at Bitty’s door. “We’ll meet up at the rink half an hour before strategy on the ice, okay?”

Bitty nods, decides _fuck it,_ and wraps his arms around Jack’s middle, forcing him into a hug. Jack is frozen only for a moment before his arms close around Bitty.

“Thank you, Jack.”

Jack gives him a quick squeeze before stepping away.

“Sleep,” Jack reminds him then turns back down the hall. Bitty watches until the top of his head disappears down the stairs.

 

**Day 20**

Bitty wakes up and for half a second he’s happy until there’s a loud thump against the wall.

He remembers yesterday — remembers his break down and Jack having his back. He remembers practicing hip checks and lacing up his skates, feeling calm for the first time in what feels like forever. He remembers Jack  _not_ suggesting the risky play. He remembers Jack passing him the puck. He remembers taking the shot, puck leaving his tape, flying through the air and a sharp whistle cutting through the air. There’s no buzzer, no celebration, just Bitty on the ice without a helmet and Samwell kicked out of the playoffs.

He remembers that Jack won’t.

 

**Day 22**

Bitty has a game plan. A legit one this time. 

Step one is to tell Jack what’s going on. Maybe Shitty and Lardo, too. Then he can at least get help brainstorming steps two to profit because he lied and doesn’t actually have a game plan.

*

Bitty wrings his hands as he stands in front of Jack, who’s perched on the edge of a bench by the lake. Bitty had texted him shortly after the breakfast message asking if he wanted to go on a run. Best get it out of the way.

Jack hasn’t really said anything since Bitty told him he’s been living the same day over and over again for approximately three weeks.

“Approximately?” Jack finally says.

“What?”

“You said approximately — don’t you know how long you’ve been doing this?”

Bitty blushes.

“Uh, well, you see—”

The edge of Jack’s lips turns up into a small smirk.

“Mr. Zimmermann, are you seriously chirping me at a time like this?”

Jack lets out a soft chuckle.

“If the shoe fits…”

Bitty rolls his eyes before throwing himself down onto the bench beside Jack, slumping down until his neck is resting on the edge of the back.

“What am I going to do, Jack?” Bitty whines.

Jack is silent again, staring out across the grass.

“I don’t know, Bittle.”

Bitty huffs. He kind of figured that would be his answer. The only other time he’d told Jack, that horrid day in the kitchens, Jack had listened but hadn’t really been able to give much advice beyond ‘don’t get checked’ which. Obviously.

“Want to get some coffee?”

Bitty stares incredulously at the back of Jack’s head.

“ _What?”_

Jack shifts in his seat, turning to look at Bitty and there’s a flush in his cheeks.

“Want to grab some coffee? You can tell me more about what happens. We have—” Jack checks his watch. “An hour before breakfast.”

This really wasn’t what he was expecting to happen. Coffee. With Jack. On the same day as a game.

Bitty shakes his head. Maybe he’s in a coma and his concussion rattled his brain enough to make Jack Zimmermann a decent human being _who wants to get coffee with Bitty._

“Sure,” Bitty says into the extended silence.

*

Annie’s is pretty quiet this early in the morning on a Saturday. Jack had chosen a private table in the back corner, cozy and small enough that their feet end up pressed against each other under the table.

Jack procures some napkins and a pen from somewhere before asking Bitty to go through the days events. Bitty rattles off the schedule pretty easily and Jack doesn’t write any of it down — they both know by heart what a game day looks like.

“I, uh—” Bitty pauses, rips another strip out of the liner his long ago eaten blueberry muffin had come in. “I get hip checked.”

There’s a pause, Bitty doesn’t look up at a Jack until Jack slowly writes a dash on his napkin then two words, _hip check._

“Okay. Then what? Do you faint?”

Bitty can feel his face heating up in embarrassment. He shouldn’t be _that_ embarrassed — checks happen all the time, guys get hurt in hockey _all the time_ . But Jack has been helping him for most of the season so something like this _wouldn’t_ happen.

The strips of liner are starting to become smaller as Bitty rips them up in halves.

“Bitty,” Jack says softly, pushing.

Bitty lets out a hard breath — a couple of pieces of liner go fluttering across the table.

“I get hip checked so bad I end up flying through the air. I lose my helmet and I—” Bitty swallows. “I get a concussion, okay? I get a concussion and let y’all down.”

“Hey,” Jack says, a hand reaching out across the table and Bitty just stares. With every passing loop Bitty is starting to learn more and more about just how tactile Jack truly is, how soft and gentle Jack Zimmermann can be beyond the ice hockey persona. “You never let us down, okay?”

Bitty scoffs, wiping away a couple of stray tears, ignoring Jack’s open hand sitting in the middle of the table. It’s too much right now. He can’t hold hands with Jack in the middle of a coffee shop even  _if_ the day is just going to erase itself.

“It’s true, even if—” Jack pulls his hand away, grasps tightly onto his coffee cup. “Even if I haven’t always shown that. You’re an important piece to this team — to—”

“Jackie-o! And my favourite southern gentleman,” Shitty yells too loudly for the time, smacking Jack on the shoulder, the motion almost upsetting Jack’s coffee.

Bitty wishes they hadn’t texted Shitty to meet them at Annie's before breakfast — he wants to know how Jack was going to finish that sentence — but the moment has passed. Jack has drawn back up into himself and they need to quickly fill Shitty in on what’s happening. They had both agreed he would probably be their next best option.

Shitty pulls a chair from a nearby table, swinging it around so he can straddle it.

“So what’s up my beautiful men? What’s so urgent it couldn’t wait for breakfast?”

Jack and Bitty exchange looks before Jack waves a hand, signaling it’s up to Bitty to explain.

“Well, Shitty, it’s like this…”

*

Shitty is also stumped for ideas. Bitty is also pretty sure Shitty thinks Jack and him are trying to pull something over on him.

“Not really Jack’s style, but you, Bits,” Shitty gives Bitty an obviously playful stink eye. “You keep too much to your chest I don’t even know what you could do.”

Bitty plays along, pretending to sweep long hair over his shoulder as he retorts, “A southern belle always keeps them guessing.”

In the end, the three of them quietly make their way across campus to the mess hall with nothing more to end this personal hell except a muttered, “I guess an impromptu checking practice is in order, eh Bittle?”

*

Jack and Shitty give him big round pity eyes as he trudges out of the medics office after the game.

 

**Day 24**

Bitty lies flat on his stomach in the middle of the workout room. He’s really tired of mountain climbers. He’d rather continue laying here, watching Jack across the room do pull-ups 

Jack makes eye contact at one point and raises an eyebrow at Bitty. Bitty blushes in response but doesn’t stop watching, chin propped up on the back of his hands. Jack stares for a second before doing another pull-up, pausing in the lift before bringing his knees up and twisting them from side to side. It gives Bitty a great view of his thighs and ass and Bitty kind of wants to die.

Jack brings his legs back down.

“Alright there, Bittle?”

Bitty presses his forehead into his hands, thinks  _this boy_ , before pushing himself up into a plank.

“Show off,” he mutters and continues on with his workout.

 

**Day 26**

“You’ll figure it out,” Johnson says one morning, passing Bitty in the hall at Faber to the tool room. 

Bitty pauses before quickly chasing after him.

The tiny room is empty as Johnson starts working on his hockey sticks, putting one into the vice so he can cut it.

“What do you mean?” Bitty asks just before the miter saw whirs loudly to life.

“It’s not part of the narrative to leave this open-ended — you’ll figure it out,” Johnson replies. He pulls the stick out of the vice, inspects the end before nodding and moving onto the next.

“How do you know? Do you know how to fix this?” Bitty’s chest tightens up, can feel his breathing becoming slightly shallower. “Can you help me figure this out?”

Johnson pauses for a moment, staring straight at the spinning saw blade, before quickly bringing it down to cut another stick. Bitty flinches at the jarring movement.

“I can’t,” Johnson says.

“But you know how to?” Bitty asks again, frustration seeping into his tone. How dare Johnson keep him living this hellish day over and over again when he knows how to fix it.

Johnson shrugs, now rummaging through all the crap on the table — looking for something in particular. He comes up with a nub of glue.

“Johnson!” Bitty almost screeches, feeling the urge to start throwing stuff.

Johnson sighs.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know any specifics, but I do know you’ll figure it out.”

Frustration boils over, tears leaking out of Bitty’s eyes, as he swings a fist at Johnson. Johnson easily manages to step back out of reach, arms raising up slightly.

“Hey, Bitty, you’re going to be fine—”

“Just tell me!” Bitty cries out. “Tell me how to fix this!”

Bitty charges forward, shoving Johnson in the chest and pushing him back into the shelving. It creaks a bit but otherwise holds up Johnson’s weight as Bitty hits him in the chest.

“I can’t! I don’t know! You have to figure it out yourself!”

Bitty freezes, knuckles turning white, before he slumps to the ground, sobbing loudly.

There’s commotion behind him, probably some of the guys investigating all the noise. Bitty is hoisted by his underarms and he struggles to find footing easily.

“I just need you to tell me,” Bitty says weakly as he’s led out of the room and down the hall.

He ends up in the player's lounge, deposited on one of the couches by Jack.

Ollie and Wicks are in there but after a look from Jack they’re muttering excuses and booking it out.

Jack sits next to Bitty, turned slightly so their knees knock together. Bitty can’t keep the tears from streaming down his face. He wants this all to be over. Jack’s hand makes an aborted move in the air between them as if he were reaching up to Bitty’s face but that’s ridiculous — Bitty’s entire life is ridiculous.

“What’s going on?”

Bitty shrugs, huddling up into his hoodie a bit more.

“Johnson said I’d figure this all out but—” Bitty screws up his face, tries to ignore the stinging that feels like a sneeze but is probably just more wailing. “He won’t tell me how to fix it.”

Bitty’s grateful he already explained everything that morning to Jack and Shitty — he doesn’t have the mental energy to outline it all again.

Jack doesn’t say anything, just wraps his arm around Bitty’s shoulders, pulling Bitty into his well-defined chest and  _oh Lord_ , Bitty doesn’t need to be thinking about that right now.

Bitty’s tears thankfully run out pretty quick as they sit quietly on the couch. He’s thirsty, probably dehydrated, but doesn’t want to break whatever moment he and Jack are having.

Shitty does him the favour by entering the lounge with a pissed off look on his face and a bottle of Gatorade in his hand.

“Johnson is an asshole,” Shitty declares as he hands the drink over to Bitty who quickly uncaps it to take a sip. “But unfortunately, an asshole who doesn’t know how to fix this.”

Bitty can’t stop the small whine from escaping his throat. Jack’s arm tightens around him.

“What do you mean?” Jack asks.

Shitty sits down on the edge of the coffee table facing them.

“Means exactly that — finally fessed up that he’s sort of psychic, hence all the weird shit he always says, but he never knows exact details, just the general idea.”

Bitty can’t help but lean even more into Jack. He’s starting to feel a bit lightheaded at this information.

“So he knows Bittle is stuck in a loop but not how to fix it.”

“Bingo.”

Bitty sighs out, “I’m going to be stuck like this forever.”

Shitty starts to protest but Jack quickly jumps in with, “Don’t play tonight.”

Bitty pulls out of Jack’s embrace to stare incredulously.

“What?”

“Don’t play tonight,” Jack repeats. “You said you keep trying new things to avoid getting checked, but have you ever  _not_ played?”

Shitty voices Bitty’s thoughts, “Who are you and what have you done with Jack Zimmermann?”

Jack blushes but it’s offset by the glare he shoots Shitty.

“I may have let hockey try and kill me once, but I won’t let that happen to Bittle.”

In the future, when Bitty looks back, this will probably be the moment he falls in love with Jack.

Bitty lays his hand on Jack’s forearm and squeezes.

“Oh, Jack,” Bitty murmurs. “I don’t think this check will kill me.”

“Maybe not directly,” Jack says and stares into Bitty’s eyes, almost looking through him like he knows every single dark thought Bitty has had since he looped, however many days ago.

Bitty eventually nods and Jack visibly relaxes.

“Fine, I won’t play tonight, but you’re going to have to explain that to the coaches.”

*

Bitty watches from his stall as Jack talks across the locker room with Hall and Murray. When they glance at him over Jack’s shoulders he gives the fakest cough he has ever done in his entire life — he’s pretty sure his eleven-year-old self trying to get out of school for the day did a better job faking sickness.

Hall raises an eyebrow, eyes boring into Bitty, while Murray continues talking to Jack. Bitty is sure his face is tomato red but maybe that will help their case. Bitty hurriedly turns back to fiddling with his laces, not sure what to do until he gets the okay to not suit up.

Jack slips into Stephen’s stall next to Bitty.

“You’re good,” Jack whispers. “They don’t really believe me, so keep up the coughing, but they’re trusting my judgment enough not to question too much.”

Bitty quickly nods, catches Hall just staring, and coughs again.

Jack pats him on the back before leaving as quickly as he came.

*

Getting scratched — no matter the reason — sucks. Bitty thankfully has only ever been scratched once before (near the beginning of the season when he still didn’t have his fainting thing under control) but he knows a couple of guys who get rotated around and they always seem miserable when they get the cut after morning practice.

Tonight it’s Bitty, Einhardt, and Nelson sitting out. There are no press boxes at Faber, everyone communes like peasants, so the three of them find a spot near the top of the bleachers with a good vantage point of the ice.

The three of them sit there, wistfully wishing they were all out there. Bitty knows what would happen if he was on the ice but that doesn’t mean he likes sitting out.

He can feel the anxiety ramping up in him as it gets closer to the point in time he should be getting checked. His leg bounces nervously at a rapid pace, his fingers playing with the cuff of his hoodie. He glances at the scoreboard while Jack readies himself for the face-off. Jack wins, passes it off to Wagner, who’s been moved up from the second line to fill Bitty’s spot. They’re doing the same play — Wagner circles around and as he passes to Jack, #1 on Princeton — Spencer — hip checks Wagner. Bitty holds his breath as Wagner lifts up into the air in an arc and—

Bitty can’t watch this. He covers his face with his hands as he listens to the yelling grow exponentially louder in the building. His breathing is shallow and he digs his fingernails into his forehead. Bitty waits — waits for the whistle that doesn’t seem to come — waits for the silence to overcome the stands but all he hears is cheering. 

Slowly, he lowers his hands and watches, eyes wide, as the team on the ice is celebrating, Wagner jumping onto the back of Jack with a guttural yell of excitement. Bitty glances up at the jumbotron replaying Jack’s goal and in the background Bitty watches Wagner do a flip in the air, Bitty’s own stomach flipping dangerously, landing on the ice and immediately bouncing back up like nothing ever happened.

Wagner is fine. _Bitty_ is fine.

Bitty’s mouth cracks open in a gigantic grin, finally jumping up to join Nelson and Einhardt in their own celebration. Samwell is moving on in the playoffs _and nobody's hurt!_

Bitty’s euphoria takes over every other thought in his brain. He didn’t get checked and tomorrow he’s going to wake up to March 30.

Bitty hugs Nelson, clutching onto his arms.

“Holy shit!” Bitty yells and Nelson laughs.

People are starting to filter out around them, Princeton fans sullenly moving along. Bitty stares down at the ice and finds Jack looking right back. Bitty grins and feels his heart beat happily along when Jack grins back. He needs to get down to the ice — down to the locker room, at least — to hug Jack.

Bitty starts trying to corral Nelson and Einhardt out of the way.

“C’mon boys, let’s—”

He doesn’t see who pushes him. At the end of the day, he doesn’t think it really matters. He’s pushed by someone trying to get by them and he trips over his own goddamn feet. The swoop in his stomach is the same falling down the bleachers as it is flying through the air after a check.

Bitty doesn’t remember actually hitting the ground. He comes to with a small crowd around him, his foot stuck under the bench at a weird angle.

All he wants to do is cry. He lets Einhardt help him carefully extract his foot, and if it isn’t broken it will be a miracle, before Nelson helps him up. There are medics taking two steps at a time to get to him.

“Oh boy,” Bitty mutters.

*

“A concussion and only a twisted ankle.”

Jack and Shitty stare at him. He’s still in the medics room, lounging on one of the tables with his right foot elevated and an ice pack on it.

“What the fuck,” Shitty mutters.

“They say I’m pretty lucky - could have snapped the bone the way I went down.”

Jack looks a bit pale.

“But otherwise I’m fine.”

“You’re taking this well,” Jack says.

And honestly, Bitty’s really not. He hates himself for believing, even for the tiniest moment, that everything was going to be okay, that he wasn’t going to relive this day again. He hates that the universe has been so cruel to him to allow him to think that. It’s easy for his mind to spiral so he’s been trying not to think about it.

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” is what Bitty does say.

Jack and Shitty frown in tandem and Bitty laughs for a split second before his head pounds painfully in protest.

“Let’s get you home, Bittle,” Jack says and Bitty doesn’t have the heart to point out the Haus is not home.

*

Bitty doesn’t protest when he gets deposited in Jack’s own bed. Bitty has spent too many nights here, alone, that he no longer questions it. Sometimes Shitty offers up his bed first but more often than not it’s Jack’s Bitty falls asleep in.

Bitty snuggles in a little bit more, pulling the covers right up to his chin. He doesn’t take notice as Jack putters around the room — usually, he grabs his pajamas to change into before gathering up his phone and charger for the sleep on the couch.

Jack sits heavily down on the bed. Bitty squawks a bit, caught off guard by this turn of events — Jack has never lingered.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers.

“Oh, honey, you don’t need to apologize. It was a good idea.”

Jack sighs, shoulders hunching forward.

“You got even _more_ hurt this time.”

Bitty struggles to push himself up into a sitting position. Jack whips around, startled at the movement, arms raised out but not touching, unsure how to help.

“Jack,” Bitty says once he’s fully upright. “I’m fine, okay? A sprained ankle is nothing in the grand scheme of things.”

The worry etched into Jack’s face doesn’t fade, but he nods.

“Tomorrow is a new day after all,” Bitty jokes and Jack rolls his eyes. “Too soon?”

Jack huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, too soon.” 

Bitty slowly lowers himself back down, the painkillers taking the edge off the pulsating in both his head and ankle, but not doing anything for the nausea when he moves too fast.

Jack is still watching him.

“Sleep with me?” Bitty asks and grins at the redness flooding Jack’s face. “Just sleep, silly.”

Jack stutters out,  _of course_ , before maneuvering himself under the covers. There’s not a lot of room in a twin bed for two athletes, despite Bitty’s small stature, but they make it work once Bitty gives Jack permission to be the big spoon.

Bitty falls asleep fairly easily despite the constant reminding he has to give himself that Jack won’t remember any of this once it hits midnight, and not to get too worked up over nothing. Shitty and Jack cuddle all the time — this is not  _a thing_.

 

**Day 27**

When he wakes up it takes a few seconds, and a loud thump, to remember he’s not in Jack’s bed with Jack snoring lightly next to him. 

Bitty allows himself a couple of tears before he decides to take an easy day. He deserves it after yesterday, feeling more emotionally drained than ever before. He really thought they were on to something, but it’s quickly becoming apparent no matter what Bitty does he’s going to get a concussion. Holster has made him watch just enough Doctor Who for Bitty to realise getting checked is a fixed point in time and anything he does will not change that. He has to figure out whatever else it is that’s holding him in this loop.

Sighing, Bitty rolls out of bed and starts changing into his running gear.

 **Bitty** _(4:13 am)_ : Run?  
**Jack** _(4:14 am)_ : Yes.  
**Jack** _(4:14 am)_ : Surprised you’re awake.  
**Bitty** _(4:14 am)_ : Couldn’t sleep.  
**Bitty** _(4:15 am)_ : Meet at the lake?  
**Jack** _(4:17 am)_ : 0430 

Bitty can’t help the smile on his face.

*

Bitty finds himself taking more notice of Jack throughout the day. It’s comforting, watching Jack go about his day like nothing is wrong in the world beyond the stress of playoffs and upcoming finals.

It starts when they meet up for their run. Bitty is a couple of feet away from their usual meeting spot when he notices Jack kneeling on the grass. He’s untying his shoelaces before re-tying them, fiddling with the laces before untying them once more. There seems to be something bothering Jack about them but as Bitty steps on a particularly crunchy leaf Jack stills and looks over. He quickly ties up the laces and stands.

“Bittle.”

“Something wrong with your shoes?”

Jack glances down at them.

“No, just—” He shakes his head before fixing his intense gaze on Bitty. “Let’s get going so we’re not late for breakfast, eh?”

Bitty shrugs it off even though there’s no way they’d be late — breakfast isn’t for a couple more hours and their runs never take longer than 45 minutes.

*

At breakfast, Bitty takes the empty spot next to Jack. Jack glances over, a bit surprised since Bitty always sits on the other side of Shitty, next to Lardo. Bitty throws him a small smile and feels warmth in his chest as Jack gives one back before returning to his conversation with Shitty.

“Look, man, all I’m saying is, it isn’t a bad idea,” Shitty says in a hushed tone, but not quite enough to keep Bitty from overhearing.

Jack’s shoulders hunch in on themselves a little bit more. Shitty pokes violently at a piece of paper in front of them, but Bitty can’t read it without looking directly at it and doesn’t want to be visibly nosy.

“I don’t think—” Jack starts but is cut off by Lardo poking him in the shoulder with a banana.

“Thanks, Lards,” Jack says before grabbing the fruit over his shoulder.

Lardo glances at Bitty and frowns. Bitty looks at her with wide eyes, silently pleading with her not to say anything about the new seating arrangement — the rest of the guys haven’t noticed and he doesn’t want to start a thing.

Her lips thin out for a second before she says, “The fruits yours.”

Bitty takes it from her tray.

“Thank you,” he says and Jack jostles him with his elbow, almost making Bitty drop the bowl.

“You need to focus on getting more protein, Bittle, not sugar, eh?”

Bitty rolls his eyes. He wonders what Jack would say if he showed up one morning with nothing _but_ food high in protein. Maybe he’ll try that tomorrow.

“Jack,” Shitty hisses, brandishing the paper again as it gives a loud snap that makes Ransom snort awake for a second. They watch as Ransom blinks blearily down at his plate of, now cold, eggs before leaning his head back against Holsters shoulder and going back to sleep.

“We can talk about it later, Shits,” Jack says and Shitty sighs, stuffing the paper back into his backpack.

Jack catches Bitty staring at him and raises an eyebrow. Bitty just raises one back before popping a grape in his mouth. The sudden sourness makes Bitty’s lip purse and he ignores Jack softly laughing at him.

*

Jack on the ice is a thing of beauty. Bitty has always known this, he’s fairly certain anyone within the vicinity of Jack knows this, but it’s amazing to see how much Jack fully relaxes one his skates touch a frozen over rink.

Bitty is at center ice, stretching out his legs one at a time as Jack does laps, hair ruffling in the breeze he creates with his movement. It’s longer than usual as playoffs extend for them. There’s stubble on Jack’s hard jaw and Bitty blushes at the thought of how it would feel against his skin.

Hall calls out the ten-minute reminder before full-team drills start.

Bitty finishes his stretching and begins following Jack around the outside of the ice. He easily passes Jack on his second lap and ignores the frown on Jacks face. Bitty keeps circling, picking up speed as more of the guys finish their laps and gravitate to the middle. Bitty is usually the last to join, loving the feeling of wind in his face, the pull in his stomach when he rounds the corners. Sometimes he wishes he had on his figure skates so he could edge out the corners a bit more — sometimes he yearns for a pair of speed skates just to feel that burst in acceleration.

It startles him when Jack catches up, sticking to the inside of Bitty. Jack's lips are a hard line of determination. Bitty speeds up, pushing his thighs a bit more with ease, not yet feeling too bad of a burn. Jack huffs behind him and Bitty can’t help the laugh that escapes. They continue going around the rink, Bitty speeding up just as Jack catches up to his heels, never letting Jack actually match his stride.

Hall eventually yells for them to cut it out and join the team. Bitty can’t tell if the flush on Jacks cheeks is from the exertion or from being called out.

Bitty grins cheekily at Jack as he lines up for 4-pass drills. Jack blinks at him a few times before turning his attention to the coaches.

*

“Good practice,” Jack mutters to Bitty afterward in the locker room.

Jack’s just gotten out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and droplets of water running down his chest, matting down the hair that leads down his stomach. Bitty swallows loudly and does his best to keep his eyes up.

“Yeah, you too,” Bitty replies weakly, hoping he doesn’t pop a boner because compression shorts do nothing to hide that sort of thing.

Jack thankfully doesn’t say anything else and heads over to his own stall. Bitty stares down at his feet, clenches his teeth when out of the corner of his eye he sees a blur of white drop to the ground. Jack Zimmermann is butt naked five feet away from him and Bitty  _cannot look_. It is in every bro code book known to man — you do not actively look at another man in the locker room. But, oh boy, does Bitty want to.

Bitty wants nothing more than to look over, have Jack catch his eye and raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. Nobody else would be around, everyone already changed and on the way back to the Haus. Jack would turn his body enough so Bitty could catch a glimpse of everything Jack has to offer — what he wants to offer to Bitty.

Bitty’s mouth goes dry at what he would do for Jack Zimmermann. He would fall to his knees right there, push Jack up against his stall, open his mouth wide and feel Jack’s dick heavy on his tongue. Bitty wonders what he would taste like — would he taste like the soap he uses in the shower or would it be heady still from their workout.

“Bittle.”

Bitty startles, quickly grabbing something, anything, to throw over his lap. It ends up being one of his gloves which, awkward, but it’s all he can do as he looks up at Jack, who is now fully dressed.

“You okay?” Jack asks, eyes drooping with concern. “You look a bit flushed — you’re not getting sick are you?”

Bitty shakes his head.

“No, no, I’m fine, just thinking about—” _Jesus,_  he can’t say what he’s thinking about but what else would make him turn red like this? “Pie,” he finishes lamely.

Jack looks at him, confused.

“Pie?”

“Yeah, y’know, apple, cherry, peach — pie.”

His boner is quickly deflating at this conversation, that’s for sure.

Jack shifts his weight on his feet a bit, fingers rubbing at the hem of his shirt.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to grab some coffee.”

Bitty frowns slightly.

“We had coffee this morning.”

Jack is silent for a moment before he lets out a harsh _ha_!

“Right, uh, of course, I mean—”

Bitty tilts his head and watches red spots appear on Jacks cheeks. He’s— embarrassed?

“But I could go for lunch,” Bitty says and is delighted when Jack seems to perk up at that.

“Sure, yeah, that works. Usually, I go to the mess hall but we could—”

“Mess hall is fine.”

Jack’s smile almost blinds Bitty by how big it is, how soft and charming it is. Bitty isn’t really sure what’s going on here but he’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I’ll wait outside for you,” Jack says, jerking his head roughly towards the hall. Bitty just nods and if his eyes stray to Jack’s ass as he walks away, well, not even Shitty could blame him.

*

Bitty usually eats leftover spaghetti for lunch. It’s been in his mini fridge for the past month and it’s easy even if he’s beyond sick of it. He almost gags when he sees tomato basil penne on the menu at the cafeteria.

Jack is loading up on the stuff and Bitty wonders if there’s any chance at all he can get away with not having any. He eyes the chicken the next tray over but before he can go for it Jack is grabbing his plate and dropping pasta onto it.

“Oh,” Bitty murmurs.

Jack doesn’t say anything, just goes down the line filling up both their plates. At least he also adds the chicken to Bitty’s plate, as well as a bunch of vegetables.

“Thanks, Jack,” Bitty says as Jack swipes his meal card for both their plates.

Jack seems to beam at him, looking more like a puppy that did good than anything else, and Bitty can’t even be upset.

*

Jack walks Bitty back to his dorms after lunch.

They’re quiet as they walk. They hadn’t spoken much over lunch, Ransom and Holster quickly joining them and talking loud enough for everyone in the vicinity.

Bitty takes in the bare trees, wonders when leaves will start to sprout and give the official sign of spring.

“Nice day, eh?”

Bitty nods. It has been — the sun is shining brightly, bringing up the temperature a few degrees. He glances over at Jack whose wearing his Samwell hoodie and gym shorts.

“Everything alright?” Jack asks. “You seem a bit, uh, quiet today.”

Bitty’s a bit startled to realise he has been fairly quiet. Normally he’d be chatting up a storm, talking about the gossip his mother has passed along or about the new recipe he’s been thinking about. But — it’s been almost a month since he’s talked to his mom, he hasn’t really baked much, and while he keeps switching things up to have some new conversations every day is literally the same. He wonders if this is what adulthood feels like.

“Sorry,” Bitty says. “I guess I’m just tired today.”

Jack nods but doesn’t press. Bitty sighs.

“I just—” Bitty starts then pauses. He feels grey, morose, down. “Nevermind.”

Jack jostles him a bit with his elbow.

“You don’t have to explain, but if you ever want to talk…”

That puts a small smile on Bitty’s face. The amount of times over the past couple weeks Jack has offered to be a shoulder to lean on has been staggeringly high. Before this started, Bitty isn’t sure if he would have ever thought to go to Jack with his problems. Yeah, they were slowly starting to become friends but the looping has accelerated things to the point Bitty wants to spend all of his free time with Jack; He wants to see that dopey smile appear when Jack makes a stupid pun that actually gets Bitty to laugh; He wants to be chirped over his coffee choices (and to chirp Jack on his lack of originality); He just — he _wants_.

Bitty looks up at Jack — they’ve stopped walking as they’ve reached the front of Bitty’s building. Jack is smiling softly down at Bitty, eyes kind, bangs smushed down from the beanie he’d shoved on. Jack is caring and sweet and funny and— and—

Bitty is in love.

“Oh Lord,” Bitty mutters and Jack frowns, confused.

“What?”

“Nothing, oh—” Bitty stares wide-eyed. _Oh no._ “I have to go.”

Bitty doesn’t wait for a response, turns on his heel and takes the steps two at a time until he’s scrambling with his key card to get in.

“Bitty,” Jack calls out but Bitty ignores it, thanking the Lord above when the door loudly unlocks.

He’s breathing harshly by the time he’s in his room, not really from the physical exertion of running up three flights of stairs but more from the panic at his realisation.

_Never fall for a straight boy._

*

Bitty isn’t paying attention when Jack taps Bitty’s skates with his stick.

“Good, Bittle?”

Bitty focuses his eyes somewhere around Jack’s shoulder blades.

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Jack doesn’t move for a moment while Bitty silently curses himself — _aye aye, Captain??_

Bitty is thankful when Jack moves on without another word.

*

“Did I do something wrong?”

Bitty sighs.

His head is pounding,  _thumpthump thumpthump_ with every heartbeat, blood pumping its way through his body. Bitty has the urge to crack his own skull open with a hammer — maybe that will relieve the pressure behind his eyes.

“No, Jack,” Bitty whispers, eyes shut as he leans against the cool cinder block. The docks are quiet. It’s just him and Jack and that bird picking at the garbage.

Jack makes a soft noise of confusion, like he wants to say something but doesn’t know what.

“I’m just tired,” Bitty says.

“I can take you to the Haus — we’ll take care of you.”

Bitty feels tears springing up at the corner of his eyes.

“You don’t have to.”

“Bittle,” Jack murmurs, the sound so close to Bitty that he must be crouching down.

Bitty cracks an eye open, confirms that Jack’s face is so close — too close. There’s a gnawing in his stomach. It could be the nausea coming back — he’s already thrown up twice in the medic’s room — or something else, something more sinister than Bitty likes to think about.

“Is it worth it?” Bitty asks, watches Jack furrow an eyebrow.

“Is what?”

Hockey, love, _life._

“This,” Bitty says instead, not really caring if Jack will understand any of Bitty’s disjointed, maudlin, thoughts.

Jack’s face smooths out.

“Yeah,” Jack replies. “It is.”

 

**Day 29**

Bitty needs to get his heart eyes under control. It’s only been two days since he realised how far gone he was with one Jack Zimmermann and he needs to keep reminding himself that Jack doesn’t remember anything. 

Jack doesn’t remember the multitude of coffees they’ve shared. He won’t remember all the runs they’ve gone on, mostly silent but sometimes with quiet confessions thrown in that resonate with each other more than Bitty thought they ever could.

_I’m afraid of letting my father down._

_I’m afraid I won’t be enough._

_I’m afraid of failure._

_I’m afraid._

Bitty has a new appreciation for Jack. He understands the way Jack can build everything up in his mind to the point of lashing out, not knowing what thoughts are real and what is made up. Bitty’s forgiven Jack for earlier in the year when Jack was high strung and not willing to let another year go by without a trophy to cap it all off. Bitty knows of the poster hanging on Jack’s bedroom wall, _Be Better_ , and tries to not think about the one hanging on his own wall back in Georgia, _Strive for Perfection_.

They seem so compatible except for one important point — Jack is straight.

Bitty sighs into his coffee.

“Everything okay?” Jack asks.

Bitty nods because so far this particular run of March 29 hasn’t been bad. It is only seven in the morning, and Bitty knows how the day ends, but he had beat Jack in their impromptu race during their run. He had danced joyously on the spot while basking in Jack’s grin and short breaths. A boy could get used to such a sight.

“Just thinking about the game,” Bitty says and that spurs Jack to animatedly start talking about some plays he was thinking about the night before.

Yeah, today wasn’t turning out too horrible after all.

 

**Day 31**

Bitty really wants to kiss Jack. 

He imagines every place they could.

On their run, Bitty pushed against a tree trunk, Jack cradling the back of his head to protect it from rough bark, crowding into him as they languidly trade soft kisses.

Maybe during checking practice, sunlight through Faber’s windows, at center ice. Jack’s thumb caressing Bitty’s cheek, Bitty’s fingers digging into Jack’s biceps. Slick lips sliding against each other, harsh breathes pulled through their noses so they don’t have to disconnect.

Jack could walk Bitty back to his dorm, insist on walking him right to his door, and Bitty wouldn’t have the patience to wait anymore. He could pull Jack in, just like in the movies. Jack’s clear blue eyes would be wide with surprise but saying _yes, please._  Jack would guide him to the bed, Bitty falling back with a laugh that Jack would echo before crawling after him until they’re lying side by side, staring at each other, faces flushed with shyness, excitement.

Or after everything that happens on the ice, after Bitty has been given the diagnosis of concussion, he’d escape to the loading dock. Jack would already be there, apology dripping from his lips and before he could continue Bitty would be surging forward. The pounding in his head would lessen as Jack kissed back, ignoring the tears on Bitty’s cheeks.

They could kiss in so many places, in so many ways, if only Bitty could come up with the nerve.

 

**Day 32**

He’s gonna do it. He’s going to kiss Jack.

 

**Day 34**

But what if Jack doesn’t want to kiss Bitty. 

Bitty would lean in and Jack would stutter out an apology, hands on Bitty’s shoulders to keep him at bay. Jack would apologize for any misunderstanding, for the possibility of leading Bitty on, and Bitty would have to move to a lighthouse somewhere in Canada just to not die of embarrassment.

The probability of Jack not wanting Bitty is so high he doesn’t even want to contemplate it.

 

**Day 35**

“Is Jack straight?" 

“Woah,” Shitty half-shouts and garners the attention of almost everyone else on the ice.

It’s the middle of practice and maybe not the best time to be asking but he only has so much semi-alone time with Shitty today.

Shitty pulls him by the arm as far away as he can get from everyone else who's doing a quick scrimmage on the other side of the rink while Bitty pretended to need help with something - he can’t even remember if he said a real reason.

“Bro, not cool,” Shitty hisses, as everyone’s eyes finally leave them. “Even if this was an appropriate place to have a private conversation, it is not appropriate for me to discuss how Jack identifies. That should only be up to him, when and how he wants to divulge that information.”

Bitty feels officially chagrined and starts apologizing immediately.

“It’s fine, Bits, just don’t do it again,” Shitty says before skating back to the group.

 

**Day 36**

“Are you straight?”

Jack sucks in a sudden breath and starts coughing violently. Bitty gets up to whack him on the back a couple of times until Jack waves him off.

“What?” Jack croaks out once he’s no longer choking on his spit, eyes darting manically around the coffee shop, maybe taking an inventory of how many people are there, how many are looking at them, how many may be listening.

Bitty had thought this was a good idea last night. Maybe he’s using the loop to his advantage, but he just — he has to know.

“I just wanted to know,” Bitty voices out loud.

Jack looks distraught, and maybe that should be enough of an answer for Bitty.

Jack stumbles over some consonants but doesn’t get anything tangible out.

“Sorry, Jack,” Bitty mutters. “Forget about it.”

It’s obvious by the way Jack avoids him for the rest of the day that he doesn’t.  


**Day 38**

It wouldn’t matter in the end, Bitty is fairly sure, whether he kisses Jack or not. No matter the reaction the loop will continue and Bitty would be the only one left with the memories — good or bad. 

Bitty sobs in the shower after their run. He just wants this all to be over with.

 

**Day 39**

That morning, instead of going for a run, Bitty decides to go for a skate. 

Faber is empty when he arrives. He has to use his phone’s flashlight to navigate the halls until he finds the switches. The chunking of lights turning on, the hum of the lights themselves, allows some of the tension to bleed from Bitty’s shoulders. He remembers doing this back in Georgia when he was always the first one at the rink, Katya only minutes behind.

He ties up his skates quickly in the dressing room, not bothering with putting on any gear.

As soon as he steps out onto the ice, his mind clears. The brisk air fills his lungs as he takes a deep breath. He needs this solitude today. He’s tired of thinking.

Bitty leisurely skates around the rink a few times, no rush to do anything beyond feeling the ice beneath his skates, the heat on his face as the sun slowly rises in the windows. He thinks about the last figure skating program he and Katya put together. Bitty turns into the middle of the rink, mimicking his favorite step sequence from the program - chasse, twizzle, counter, bracket, mohawk, three.

Clapping startles Bitty into losing a bit of his edge on the blade, but he quickly catches himself as Jack on the bench comes into view.

Bitty blushes as he comes to a stop in front of where Jack stands.

“Fancy footwork out there,” Jack comments, the corners of his lips barely turning up into a smile.

“Think we could make a play out of it?” Bitty jokes and grins when Jack lets out a laugh.

“Maybe.”

Bitty glances over the boards at Jack’s feet to see them strapped into skates.

“Joining me, then?”

Jack nods, not even bothering to head for the gate as he vaults himself over the boards like his line is up.

Bitty laughs, skating backward, giving Jack all the room he needs and more. Jack follows, a grin slowly appearing on his face.

“What? Bitty asks, heart hammering in his chest from the fear of the unknown.

Jack doesn’t say anything, just continues skating towards Bitty at a slow pace while Bitty backs up and up — seeing the board come closer in his peripheral. Then Jack puts on a burst of speed and Bitty spins on the spot, feeling the burn in his thighs as Jack chases him around the rink. Jack’s fingers occasionally brush against the back of Bitty’s hoodie but never close enough to grab hold. 

“Mercy, mercy,” Jack finally calls, out of breath and cheeks red from exertion.

Bitty can’t stop the loud peal of laughter escape from his lips as he drifts across the ice. It’s all too perfect and Bitty wants to cry.

*

“Coffee?” Jack asks in the locker room as they’re pulling off their skates.

Bitty wants to say yes, wants this already amazing day to continue, but his brain just won’t let him. He keeps conjuring up fantasies, and that’s all they are really, of Jack taking his hand, of Jack leaning down and pressing their lips together in the sweetest kiss Bitty may ever experience.

“Bitty?” Jack questions, now standing in front of him. Bitty stares at the ground, at Jack’s socked toes that wiggle occasionally like they can’t sit still.

Bitty looks up.

“Kiss me.”

The shock that streaks across Jack’s face makes Bitty flinch like a check.

“Sorry, sorry, nevermind,” Bitty continues, quickly slipping on his shoes, not even bothering to lace them up. “Lord, what was I thinking. Don’t mind me Jack, call it a fit of insanity, we can just—”

“What?” Jack finally manages to squeak out and Bitty lets a couple of tears slip down his cheeks.

Bitty stands and Jack is too close — Bitty’s nose could almost press into Jack’s chest. With a single breath, he can smell Jack’s deodorant and sweat breaking through.

“Please, Jack, let’s just forget I said anything.”

Bitty goes to move past Jack, trying his best to stay small and not brush against him, when Jack reaches out, holds onto Bitty’s arm, fingers digging in deep.

Bitty looks up and Jack is staring down at him, lips slightly open. Bitty drags his eyes up in time to catch Jack’s do the same. 

“I—” Jack breathes out before leaning down and—

They’re kissing. Jack is kissing Bitty and Bitty may actually be in heaven.

It’s gentle, a mere brushing of dry lips but it sends shocks up and down Bitty’s back. Jack pulls away, but before Bitty can really react Jack is surging back down, pressing more firmly and Bitty lets out a small whimper. His lips part and the feel of Jack’s tongue on his, the warmth of Jack’s body against his, is too much. Bitty raises up onto his toes, wraps his arms around Jack’s neck, and pushes his hips into Jack’s.

Time goes by slowly and too quickly — Bitty doesn’t know how long they spend making out in the middle of the dressing room, Jack’s hands making their way under Bitty’s clothing to splay across his back, pulling him in. The need to be closer, even if closer seems impossible the way they’ve melted into each other, is so strong.

They’re breathing harshly by the time they pull apart, lips swollen and spit slick.

“Wow,” Bitty mutters for lack of anything else to say, his brain finally — _finally_ — quiet. 

“Finally found a way to make you speechless, huh?” Jack murmurs into Bitty’s hair where he’s nuzzling his nose against it.

Bitty guesses so because he can’t even think of the words to admonish Jack for chirping him.

“We should talk,” Jack finally says. “Come back to the Haus?”

Bitty nods.

*

They eventually make their way to Jack’s room.

Bitty keeps glancing at Jack on their way over, afraid he’ll look and Jack won’t be there or will have a look of regret on his face. But every time Bitty looks, Jack is looking right back, a soft dopey smile on his face that Bitty happily returns.

Jack pushes Bitty against the closed bedroom door as soon as they get there, hands roaming up Bitty’s side, Bitty shivering with the feeling. Jack’s lips are insistent, pressing time and time again into Bitty’s, traveling down to his neck, his earlobe, back to his lips, like Jack wants to kiss everywhere but keeps getting distracted.

Bitty gasps as Jack sucks on his collarbone and Bitty is harder than he thinks he’s ever been in his life. His hips keep twitching up but find no purchase — Jack’s body arched far enough away in order to lean over and kiss Bitty.

“Bed,” Bitty gets out, and Jack must agree in the way he manhandles Bitty over to it.

Jack pushes Bitty down onto the bed and Bitty raises himself up onto his elbows to watch Jack pull off his own shirt. Bitty’s mouth goes dry at the sight of those abs, at the sight of Jack fidgeting slightly with the shirt before tossing it aside.

“Is this okay?” Jack asks quiet and unsure and Bitty nods, mouth open and eyes wide.

Jack kneels on the bed, looming over Bitty as he runs his hands up the front of Bitty’s shirt, pulling it up towards his armpits.

“You too,” Jack murmurs and Bitty almost headbutts Jack in his haste to sit up and get his shirt off.

“Sorry,” Bitty says, flushing at Jack’s chuckle.

They maneuver themselves until they’re only in their underwear, laying on their sides, facing each other. Jack caresses Bitty’s cheek as he leans in for a kiss. It’s open mouth and wet and hot and Bitty groans loudly into it.

“Please, Jack,” Bitty murmurs.

Jack rolls them over, pressing his body down into Bittys. Bitty arches up, wrapping his legs around Jack’s waist, allowing their dicks to rub against each other. Jack lets out a low breathy moan so Bitty pushes his hips up again and again, Jack matching his rhythm quickly.

Bitty wants to touch, doesn’t want to come with only underwear between them. He sneaks his hand to the front, sliding it into Jack’s underwear and grasps onto Jack’s dick. Precome is leaking down, making the velvet skin slick in Bitty’s hand.

“Fuck, Bitty,” Jack swears, hips stuttering.

Jack pushes his underwear down, revealing Bitty’s hand wrapped loosely around his dick.

“Tighter,” Jack says and groans as Bitty does. Bitty is mesmerized, watching the head of Jack’s dick push in and out of the tight ring that is Bitty’s fingers.

“Fuck, Jack, you’re so beautiful,” Bitty says and Jack’s hips buck wildly for a couple of thrusts before he’s coming, spurts of white covering Bitty’s fingers and stomach.

Jack breathes harshly into the air, slowing his movements. Bitty removes his hand and pushes his own underwear down. He reaches for his own dick but Jack gets there first, tugging on it a couple of times before Bitty’s arching his back, letting his come join Jack’s on his stomach.

Bitty feels drowsy in his post-orgasm haze and barely moves as Jack gets up from the bed. Bitty does have the foresight to turn his head and watch as Jack strips his boxers off completely while on his way to the bathroom. Bitty loves Jack’s ass and wishes he could touch it.

“Next time,” Jack says as he returns with a washcloth and Bitty blushes at the fact he said that out loud.

When Jack cleans up Bitty’s stomach, Bitty reaches around to grab one of Jack’s ass cheeks. Jack laughs loudly and Bitty grins.

“Couldn’t wait.”

Jack lets the cloth drop to the floor before laying down on the bed, pulling Bitty into him so they’re spooning, kissing Bitty’s shoulder tenderly.

They really need to talk, but Bitty can hear Jack softly snoring behind him already so he leaves it. Better to nap now and freak out later.

*

Bitty wakes up to Shitty staring at him from across Jack’s room, half in the bathroom and one foot across the threshold.

 _Holy fuck_ , Shitty mouths. Bitty pretty much agrees. Then Shitty is giving a quick thumbs up before retreating the way he came, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

Bitty checks the alarm clock Jack has on his side table. They have fifteen minutes before they have to be at the rink for the team workout.

Jack’s arm is heavy across his side, tucked around him and pulling him into Jack’s chest. It’s warm and safe and only temporary.

Bitty can’t help the sob that is seemingly torn from his mouth.

“Bits?” Jack asks, groggy and obviously woken up by Bitty’s dismay.

Bitty can’t answer. His chest is clenching tightly, his throat constricting his breathing, and this can’t be happening. He’s finally getting what he wants — the possibility at a relationship with Jack — and it’s all going to be thrown away as soon as it strikes midnight.

Jack is talking to him. Bitty can distantly hear words but can’t quite make out what they mean beyond the thumping of his heart, working overtime trying to hold onto the little oxygen Bitty has left. This is it — he’s going to die in Jack’s arms and that will solve all of his problems.

“Bitty— Bittle— Listen to me.”

Jack’s captain voice cuts through the fog.

“Relax and try to take a breath. You’re not dying, you just need to take a breath.”

Bitty tries to, opens his mouth wide hoping that’ll help. He coughs as he sucks in. Jack pulls him closer to his chest.

“Feel my breathing, follow along.”

Bitty searches for the feeling — allows his brain to focus on searching for the movement of Jack’s chest. He can feel it, faint, but it’s there. Bitty focuses, tries to follow suit, until his heart is slowing down, until his brain starts taking in more of his surroundings and realises he’s not dying. He can breathe.

Jack peppers kisses along the back of Bitty’s neck, down to his shoulders, back up to his head.

“You’re okay,” Jack murmurs, over and over again, as Bitty catches his breath.

“Jack,” Bitty croaks out.

Jack helps Bitty roll over until they’re facing.

“What happened? What’s wrong?”

Bitty tightens his grip on Jack’s shoulder as he remembers what brought on the panic attack in the first place.

“It’s okay,” Jack says before Bitty can say anything. “You don’t have to say anything, it’s okay.”

Jack presses a kiss on Bitty’s forehead and Bitty lets the tears flow freely.

“This isn’t going to last,” Bitty cries out and feels Jack tense up — but it’s the truth.

“What?”

“I’ve been living this day over and over again and it’s all going to reset and you’re going to forget this ever happened!”

“ _What?_ ”

Bitty tries to pull away but Jack holds onto him.

“What are you talking about?” Jack asks.

Bitty keeps his eyes closed as he explains what’s been going on — the loop, the concussion, his inability to stop it all from happening.

Jack is quiet after Bitty finally stops talking.

“Have we ever kissed before?”

“What?” Bitty finally looks up at Jack’s face, furrowed in contemplation. “Of course not, Jack. Today was the first time.”

Jack’s eyebrows straighten out and he gives Bitty a small smile.

“Maybe that’s it then?”

Bitty stares.

“What?”

Jack half shrugs.

“You said you couldn’t stop yourself getting a concussion, but this is the first time we’ve kissed — maybe that was what you needed to do.”

Bitty wonders what in the world has happened with the Jack Zimmermann he knew, who only cared about hockey and world war two, because that Jack Zimmermann would never casually suggest that Bitty had to get his relationship status figured out in order to fix a time loop.

He doesn’t know what to say, but is saved when he looks over at the alarm clock again — they’re twenty minutes late for their workout now.

“We need to be at the rink,” Bitty says and manages to finally pull out Jack’s embrace.

He can’t let himself hope that Jack’s right. The last time he got hopeful about fixing the loop was the last time he had told Jack about it — when Jack had told him to sit out of the game. Bitty can’t go through that emotional rollercoaster again.

“Bitty,” Jack says, still laying on his bed, perched on an elbow to watch Bitty grab his clothes from the floor.

“I’ll meet you at the rink, Jack,” Bitty says before letting himself out.

*

Bitty avoids Jack as much as he can, but it’s hard when their whole day seems to be dedicated to nothing but hockey.

Bitty ignores Jack when he shows up ten minutes after Bitty does. He focuses on his weights and definitely does not almost drop them when he catches Jack giving him sad puppy dog eyes.

Bitty makes sure he’s the first off the ice after practice, first in and out of the showers, first out the door. He eats his leftover pasta in silence in his dorm room. He naps and manages to keep Holster in a conversation right up until Coach is clearing his throat to start the strategy session.

He almost manages to avoid Jack right up until it’s time to head out onto the ice except that Jack corners in him the tool room, Johnson making a hasty retreat.

“We need to talk,” Jack says and Bitty waves his hand for him to continue — it’s not like he can go anywhere with Jack using his full body to block Bitty’s only exit.

“You can’t keep avoiding me forever.” 

Bitty sighs.

“No, I can’t,” he admits. “But I can until midnight when all of this will reset and you won’t remember anything that happened this morning.”

Jack’s hands clench and unclench at his sides.

“You’re going to get checked tonight.”

Bitty nods.

“And there’s nothing we can do to stop it?” Jack asks.

Bitty shakes his head.

Jack takes a couple of steps forward until he’s well within Bitty’s personal bubble, hand hesitating in the air for a moment before it latches on to Bitty’s face, gentle and shaking.

“I didn’t realise I felt this way about you,” Jack says and Bitty lets his eyes grow wide at the admission. “Until you kissed me this morning. I don’t want these feelings to disappear.”

Bitty sighs, letting himself push his face further into Jack’s hand, letting himself feel the callouses across his cheek.

“I don’t either, but I don’t know how to stop it.”

“Tell me again.”

Bitty blinks in confusion.

“What?”

“Tomorrow. If it resets, tell me again how you feel. We’ll figure this out eventually. Together.”

Bitty feels dazed, like he’s been transported into some romcom that he never thought was possible for him.

“Oh, Jack,” Bitty breathes out, craning his neck up to get his lips on Jack’s. Jack meets him halfway, hand falling away from Bitty’s face to cradle the small of his back.

There’s a cough from the hall and Jack and Bitty spring apart. Bitty peers around Jack to find Shitty, looking embarrassed at interrupting them.

“Coach is looking for you guys — he’s about to announce the lines.”

“Thanks, Shitty,” Jack says and Shitty promptly disappears.

Jack turns back to Bitty, smiling.

“Let’s go play some hockey, eh?”

Bitty laughs, grabs his half tapped up stick, and follows Jack back to the dressing room.

*

Bitty is perched on Jack’s lap as they watch Jack’s bedside clock tick minute by minute closer to midnight.

11:56 pm.

Bitty squeezes Jack’s fingers; Jack squeezes back.

11:58 pm.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Bitty whispers into the tense air.

“You find me first thing in the morning, tell me everything, and we’ll figure it out,” Jack replies, dropping a quick kiss on the top of Bitty’s head.

11:59 pm.

“I love you,” Bitty says before he can chicken out.

“I love you, too.”

Bitty isn’t even looking when the clock switches to midnight. He’s got his attention fully on Jack, taking in blue eyes and long lashes.

“Really?”

Jack nods, grinning.

12:01 am.

“Forever.”  
  


**Epilogue**

Bitty keeps his eyes closed as he wakes up. He doesn’t want to open them up yet — just in case. 

He starts trying to catalogue his surroundings. He’s definitely not in his own bed, the sheets are softer than his own, and there’s sunlight streaming through threadbare curtains, making the backs of his eyelids glow red.

Bitty shoves his face further into the pillow and takes a deep breath in — it smells like Jack. Bitty can’t help but grin despite the pain radiating through his head.

“Morning,” Jack grumbles from somewhere in the room.

Bitty cracks open an eye to see Jack sitting on his computer chair, frowning down at his sneakers as he fiddles with the laces.

“Mornin’,” Bitty replies easily, arching his back into a stretch as he rolls over. “Something wrong with your shoes?”

He remembers catching Jack messing around with them before.

“No, just—” Jack lets out a small _ha_. “I got new laces but I forgot how my previous ones were laced up — it feels weird.”

Bitty manages to stop the _awww_ from escaping his lips because if that is not the cutest thing in the world, excluding the furrow in Jack’s forehead as he concentrates on re-tying the shoes, Bitty doesn’t know what is.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out, honey,” Bitty says, melting back into the warmth of Jack’s bed.

Jack nods, although Bitty is fairly sure he wasn’t really listening.

“Hey,” Bitty continues, remembering something else that had caught his attention during the loop. “What was that paper Shitty was talking to you all secretly about? At breakfast, yesterday.”

Jack laughs, loud and sharp _._

“Shitty sometimes takes my stocks too seriously.”

Bitty looks over in surprise.

“You have _stocks_?” Oh gosh, Bitty is in love with a certified adult. “Wait — does _Shitty_ manage your  _stocks_?”

Jack nods, grinning at his sneakers as he finally puts them on his feet.

“He’s pretty good at it. If he wasn’t so dead-set on being a lawyer, I’d think he’d be a great financial advisor.”

Bitty laughs. He tries to imagine Shitty working at a bank. Most days he has a hard time imagining Shitty work at a law office but maybe Jack’s onto something here — Shitty would l _ove_ to tell old, rich people what to do with their money.

Jack stands up and towers over Bitty, smile softening to something Bitty could possibly call lovey.

“I’m going for a run. You okay here?”

Bitty scoffs. “Despite the concussion, I am more than able to take care of myself.”

Jack leans down and gives Bitty a quick peck on the lips.

“See you later then. Don’t marinate for too long.”

Bitty sticks his tongue out at Jack’s retreating back. Once the door is shut, Bitty snuggles right back under the covers, inhaling Jack’s scent. He could definitely get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Feel free to come yell with me about these boys on [tumblr](https://shipped-goldstandard.tumblr.com/).


End file.
